Regret
by Wintersturm
Summary: What would you do if you found out that your best friend is dying and there's nothing you can do?


A/N: See bottom if interested. 

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She was my best friend. I had never thought about her that much. As far as I was concerned, she was smart, beautiful, forgiving and alive. And I never needed to give her much attention. After all, she was perfectly capable of looking after herself. Besides, Lee was always there to look after her. So I never really had to bother. If only I had. 

I might have noticed her weakening, or noticed that some of the shine had gone out of her hair. I might have noticed that her eyes no longer looked as bright, or that she spoke less. And that should have been indication enough. After all, she was just about the most talkative person ever lived-- how could I _not_ have noticed? 

I used to think of myself as the perfect big brother-- I didn't have the typical "sister complex", which involved me getting overprotective and beating up every single guy who dared approach her. No, that role was already filled by Lee. I gave her the respect that she wanted, advice when she asked for it. In fact, I was all ready to give myself a good pat on the back for a job well done. That is, until I realised the horrible truth-- I was the lousiest brother ever. 

Technically, we weren't siblings, but we might as well have been. We grew up together, and were so close that we could practically read each other's minds. The way we both knew how to find one another whenever we desired or completed each other's sentences was proof enough of the immensely close relationship that we shared. Indeed, we were so close that the others used to tease us and say we'd make a good couple. She'd blush then, unsure of what to say. Some things just simply weren't taught to us. 

However, we both knew better. We weren't likely to be romantically involved, mainly because of that close relationship that we had. I mean, it would be like marrying your sister, or maybe your aunt. It was just too weird for words. And we were both content to leave it at that. Let others think what they wished; as long as we were happy, who cared what they thought? Now, looking back, I wish I had. For then, I might have actually noticed something was wrong. 

It had started out with the small things-- lack of appetite and the gradual weight loss. I had, like her, accounted it to the fact that she was growing up. After all, when girls grow older, they changed dramatically. And I certainly wouldn't have expected her to stay that way all her life. Hanging out with her was fun, but I most certainly wasn't going to stand in her way of growing up. 

Others commented how she was losing weight. We chose to explain it away by using the strict diet plans that she was on. She had a crush on someone, and she became immensely self-conscious. She was too fat, she complained. I refuted her statement by saying that if she were fat, I would be nothing less than a killer whale. She thought about it and agreed. Still, she decided that it wouldn't harm her to eat a little more healthily. So she went on one of those stupid programs to try to give herself the desired body. Not that it was dangerous or anything-- increasing the proportion of greens while decreasing that of meats in one's diet was hardly deadly, right? 

It soon produced the results that she wanted, or so everyone claimed. Personally, I didn't see much difference. I don't think she noticed it herself, either. Perhaps we both saw her so frequently -- either in real life or in a mirror-- that none of us were able to spot the change. Lee did, though. 

"Say, Rei, do you think Mariah's lost weight?" he asked me quite suddenly one day, his brow furrowed with worry. "You reckon there's anything wrong with her?" 

I considered. "Not really. From what I know, she's always looked like that." 

"Hmm..." It didn't take a genius to figure out that he was not convinced. And he had good reason to. For she was not well at all, as we were to find out. 

I hadn't seen her for a couple of weeks. In fact, that pattern might have continued had the others not cornered me. It was getting serious, they said. Surely something had to be done? She mustn't have eaten properly. Silly fads, they said, were bound to ruin one's health. Talk to her, tell her it's not healthy, they urged. So I made a special effort to speak to her. And I was shocked by what I saw. 

Gone was the Mariah that I had known, wild and healthy and free. Instead, there was someone who masqueraded as her, wearing her favourite clothes, dying her hair to the exact same shade. I could think of no other reason how Mariah could have ended up like _that_. 

She ducked when she saw me, trying to blend into the crowd. Still, with her colouring, it was no wonder I picked her out in no time. "Mariah, wait!" Cliché, I know, but at that point in time, I really wanted her to stop and wait. Something was evidently wrong. 

Eventually, I managed to close the gap between us, and caught her arm. She swayed and would have toppled had I not managed to right her. "Ok, confess up, Mariah. What's going on with you? What did you do to yourself?" 

She looked her me, her mouth pursed up. Knowing Mariah, you just couldn't push for answers. Coaxing might get you somewhere; pressing would only get her more clammed up. 

I sighed. "Look, Mariah, you don't need to tell me anything if you don't want to. I'm just worried about you, ok?" 

Her eyes widened a little. "Yes, I'm worried about you." I stressed each word. It wasn't a lie-- I really was disturbed by the change. "You know where to find me if you want me." With that, I let go of her arm, and turned to leave. 

"..." It wasn't anything coherent, but I could definitely hear mumbling. I paused and peered over my shoulder. Her head was down, and her eyes were hidden by her hair. No clues to indicate it wasn't just me hallucinating, so I continued on my way. At least, until I heard a clear, "Rei, wait!" I was only to ready to stop. After all, that was the reason why I was there, wasn't it? 

She took a deep breath, and said slowly, almost speaking to herself. 

"I've got leukaemia." 

Leukaemia? Mariah? The words didn't make sense. Leukaemia was for sick old dames, not healthy Mariah. Leukaemia patients were tired and withered, not Mariah. Not Mariah. My mouth felt dry. This had to be a joke. There was no way it could be really happening. Not possible. 

"It's true." At times like that, I wished she didn't know me nearly half as well. She was crying openly now, the revelation too much for her to bear. "I'm going to die." 

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**Author's Notes:**  
Ok, this is really just a piece that I wrote to get things more or less out of my system. It's not good at all, that I know, and totally unbetaed, because of time constraints. For personal reasons, it is absolutely crucial that this piece is posted today. 

However, I still like comments and CC. Only I'd like to say that this piece is a whole lot more sensitive (to me, at any rate) than my other pieces, so I'd like to request that, if possible, you would try to keep the comments less harsh. If, for some reason or another, this is impossible, then please, just ignore my request. Thank you so much for understanding. 


End file.
